Times of Peace: Volume 1 of the side adventures to The Mercenary's Salvation

by Anthony M. Johnson

  May 24, 2001

  3:29 P.m.

  Point Blank, Los Angeles, California

  “Shit! Dam you, jack ass!”

  The green eyed FTM bit his lip as he found himself swerving and spinning out, struggling to regain control of his Mazda RX-7, a large dent in the driver door littered with glass shards from the busted mirror that had been broken when his opponent’s Mitsubhi Eclipse slammed into him. Luckily for him, the driver had hit way too fast; he himself had totaled the front half of his car, engine fluid already leaking as the car struggled to regain control as well.

  Well, no good deed would go unpunished. As Oli Cage found himself coming to a rest, his air bags thankfully not deployed, he found himself staring across the way to the bleeding driver of the Green Eclipse. Tough bastard he was; even with his front windshield gone, sheer anger showed on the black man’s face as he yelled across the way, the human daring to challenge what he didn’t know to be a vampire.

  “Should have given me the turn, Oliver Twist! Even in this hunk of junk I’ll beat you to the end.”

  “As if! One cig and your car will go up in flames! What the hell are you g-”

  A distraction. Seems the damage was more superficial than Oli had thought; the Eclipse roared as it charged forward, speeding towards the finish line as the crowd in the stands he bought from some old forgotten horse rink went wild. Cursing, he slammed his stick forward as he desperately tried to catch up, the straight shot to the bikini clad women holding checkered flags nothing more than a competition in speed.

  Oli had the superior acceleration, but his opponent in the Eclipse had too much of a head start. As the distance came close, the crowd began their preemptive roar as it seemed the race had been decided, the competition given to the man who dared to ram the undefeated champion. At least, that would be the case if Oli didn’t mutter a spell as his eyes briefly flashed, far away enough that no one knew of his little twist he was throwing into the competition.

  Bad luck for the Mitsubishi came as a result. His front left tire blew out, immediately causing him to not only turn but to roll as he scattered engine fluid everywhere, his car nothing more than a metal ball in the air as he bounced across the empty field. Meanwhile, Oli sped right on ahead and crossed the finish line, not a care in the world for the man he may have killed as he sped along in victory, encouraged by the roaring stands once again amazed by the luck of the driver who proved knowing a field is more important than being simply fast. Some announcer he paid to laud his victories preached that very sermon as he began to decorate the field with another sign.

  His calling card, his triumph and his painting? A giant V, one that stretched from the top of the track of the bottom, with the destroyed wreckage of the Eclipse in the center. A normal person would have had the decency to check the wounded opponent long ago; even the most corrupt would have at least driven to check and boast to their foe who they robbed, if only to satisfy their pride.

  Not so for Oli. After he made his V he drove away, pulling into the waiting line where they prepared for matches in order to meet the roars of his fans, even as he saw the black driver limp out of his wreck with a broken arm. A few concerned watchers ran out to meet him, to help him get away from the mad man running the place.

  Well, who cared about them? Oli wanted only the jubilations of his watchers, their cries and yells as he finally came to a stop. Undoing his sun roof, the man clad in a racing uniform bought from some retired NASCAR driver climbed up to become a standing trophy, cheering as those who bought tickets from him threw even more cash, confetti, and beer at him. Their thrill was satisfied, their appetites for destruction filled. Now was a time for their desert, to party out until they puked or passed out.

  At least that was the plan, until a distinct clapping and smell came to the closet FTM’s ears. Sniffing his nose, his eyes were immediately drawn to an approaching Mexican in dirty overalls and a middle aged man with one eye, a black eye patch covering a scar where war had claimed his sight. Two people in denim, both inconspicuous to all save him, until the roaring driver pointed his finger and yelled

  “Well, if it isn’t the bitch who left me! Give it up for my ex and her new boy toy, gents!”

  “Excuse me?” Damned Boss asked, his hand moving to the shotgun hanging on his belt as Bibiana stopped him with a stare. Then, after wincing as someone’s beer nearly stained her outfit, she looked to the man she once lived with and smiled, just as ready to play the vocal war he was intent on starting.

  “Well, you were just too fast Oliver. A woman wants speed on the track, not in bed; ten second finishes aren’t something to brag about to a woman.”

  The crowd cheered, turning on their host in an instant. That was all it took for the proud FTM to hop down and approach, a head taller over the woman he no longer felt anything for. Pushing several people begging for autographs away, he marched right up to Bibiana and looked down, making the height difference apparent as he asked

  “The hell do you want then? You know I’m still stronger than you. Your eyes haven’t changed since mine have.”

  “Don’t need to be strong to beat you now, Oliver. You and my bodyguard, on the track in ten. Any car you want against our 73 Ford Falcon GT.”

  The driver began to laugh, looking over the pair to see the turquoise painted car waiting just past the stand of seats. “That old thing? Sports car or not, it can’t-”

  “It has a modified V8 engine that can leave that Mazda of yours in the dust, boy.” Big Boss angrily replied, insulted by whatever language directed towards tearing down his baby of a car. “You want to make a bet? You think you can beat it? Take that Mazda out right now for another go against my interceptor. You get to keep whatever’s left of it if you win.”

  “And what’s the catch? What do you want if you win? Ticket sales for today?”

  “There won’t be anything left of you to collect.”

  The crowd went silent, the threat clear as Bibiana worried Oliver would back out simply from the fear of the challenge, her chance at victory taken away. Instead, Oli flared his nose and laughed even harder; to him, this one eyed soldier was nothing more than an ordinary human, albeit strange and a clear veteran of war. Probing this odd visitor further, the man wiped his eyes and asked, drawing focus to them

  “Do you know who I am? What I am?”

  “Enough to know it’ll take more than garlic to put you down, four.”

  Four was more than the number on his shirt. With the secret shared, it was now simply a test to see how far this human was willing to go against the vampire. “And I’m sure Bibi mentioned how I win?”

  “Won’t work against me. She’s fast enough for you. With a spotter like me… no home field advantage for you, Oliver.”

  “That so? Well, then if you don’t mind ending up like that Eclipse than see you on the track in five minutes! Time to put you both in the ground!”

  The crowd roared in response, cheering their champion as he went back to his car, a shower of beer hosing the metal beast down as Big Boss’s eye briefly flashed. The same V, the one found on the FTMs at the Long Halloween, was on the man’s neck, darker than those even found at the sex club. While it was clear that club patrons received their powers from Oli, this was just more evidence of a greater food chain; Oli answered to someone else, maybe even to Volgin himself.

  Which made things a lot more complicated. “Bibiana…”

  “Boss, call me Bibi! Didn’t think he’d agree! This is going to be sweet!”

  The soldier frowned, taking her by the arm and dragging her away from the onlookers now heading back towards their seats. While she was used to being handled rough, this was a surprise coming from the friend who so often worked with her.

  “Okay, what’s up?”

  The soldier finally let go, the two just outside the V8 interceptor that was to be his cover for the assassination. “Well, the plan was for me to blow Oli’s brains out when his car was between
us and the stadium… but we have a problem. I need him to survive the race.”

  “What? Are you kidding me? You promised me that I could wreck him!”

  The soldier sighed, brushing his brow. “I know, and I want to… but Oli’s mark is different. It’s strong, almost as if it was Volgin’s itself. He’s close with that devil… I need to know more. I need to interrogate him.”

  The mechanic resigned to that. “All right… fair enough. As long as you deal with his tricks and help me win, his embarrassment will be enough for me. You know he’ll come after us once we win.”

  “Good. All the justification I need to deck him… once you win, of course.”

  “I wouldn’t complain if you did it to the bastardo right now.”

  So with the matter settled. The two took their respective seats, the mechanic driving as Damned Boss took his seat in the aptly named shotgun. Max, ever hopeful to follow his master, sat in his home in the back. The dog did so happily as he gave a single bark in excitement, panting as the girl suddenly remembered his presence.

  “Uh… Boss? You think it’s okay to bring Max?”

  “Yeah… he’ll be fine. Takes more to kill him than you…”

  “That’s not aspiring. Whatever. Here goes nothing.”

  The Ford Falcon slowly rolled forward, taking its spot between two underclad woman sweating and showing off their exposed skin in the heat of the day. Even as it approached four, the heat gave no sign of tapering off; the dirt itself seemed to cook, the brown arena sizzling as the black tires left their tracks in the hard ground, capable of bursting if a mere ten was added to the temperature gauge.

  How the crowd could tolerate it was anyone’s guess. Only the satisfaction of the race to start the decade could be a plausible explanation, the only drive that could give any sort of reason for hundreds of people to watch two cars race each other in that dusty field of nothing. Well, you don’t need me to tell you that they wouldn’t be disappointed, especially as the announcer in the background began to count down.

  The two in the falcon looked over, one last glance at the racer with green eyes. He promptly flipped them off, his cocksure smile wide and large as he thought about the trouncing he was about to give. Would it turn out as he hoped, or were the odds in the favor of the Mexican girl?

  Only one way to find out. Five, four, three, two, one…

  The bikini starlets exploited to excite the male crowds swung their flags, the two muscle cars speeding ahead as they both shot flames out of their exhausts. Onward they charged, neck and neck to each other as they made the first turn, placing them to run onward to a mound of dirt that would launch their vehicles into the air.

  At least, if they took it. “Do me a favor…. Don’t hit the jump.”

  “What? We’ll fall behind; that’s bedrock to the side, meant to slow down cars or spin them out of control if they don’t.”

  “Then take it slow… I want to see something.”

  The mechanic was forced to obey, veering off to the right as her ex hit it in stride. While the crowd proceeded to boo at her cowardice, it gave the soldier the chance he needed to stick his head out the window and watch as the Mazda RX went high, a good ten or fifteen feet of the ground. Experience kept it stable though and it crashed down without too much trouble; it kept on charging forward, the Falcon now forced to follow as it ate the smoke trail that the racer made sure to spray into their windshield.

  Damned Boss ignored it, speaking calmly as they nearly finished the turn. “How many laps?”

  “Twenty.”

  “We only need three to win. Keep on driving best you can… but avoid hitting the jumps, no matter the loss of speed. Did you see what I saw?”

  The Mexican grunted, mad as they crossed the starting line and began the second lap. “Course not; I’m trying to cut these corners.”

  “The Mazda is heavily modified; I was lying when I thought my Falcon was as fast as his… we’re outfitted with heavy metal, meant to absorb close contact small arm fire. While our V8 puts us ahead of anything less… we’re the bottom of our class.”

  Bibiana cursed again, losing even more distance as their car went over the bumpy rocks that had been lain out to deter such behavior. Any lesser car would have popped a tire by now; credit was due at least in that regard.

  “So what’s the plan? What does Oli have?”

  “It’s reinforced, but not like ours. The suspension is locked in tight, besides heavier tires; it’s been set up so it can take that jump easily, explaining the perfect landings… Even if we took the jump, it wouldn’t put us in the lead… not with this car.”

  Another turn.

  “We can’t just ram him, either; his side and back have been reinforced with even heavier metal than our car, meaning we’d take the bigger hit. That explains why that Eclipse was trashed after the side swipe with Oliver… nothing sort of a military Humvee can plow through the outer metal.”

  The long stretch the to the lap line.

  “So we can’t ram him. Got it.”

  Big Boss scratched his beard, musing the words as the destruction came to mind. “Well, we can… we just have to do a head on.

  “He took a lot of weight out from the front and put it in the back, helping with those jumps and hits… so rare to hit head on in a race, he didn’t think about reinforcing it.”

  To the turn, this time with Bibiana dominating the conversation as she took the hard left.

  “Because it’s nearly impossible to do it to an experienced racer! Even if you go out of your way, most drivers can dodge it; no way we’ll be able to get a head on collision with him!”

  “Which is why we’re not going to… we’re going to hit him from beneath.”

  To the jumps once more, though for a third time Jack motioned his head to dodge the jump. Going over the bumpy road, it was going to be near impossible to even catch up to Oliver unless he purposefully slowed down, a mercy the cocky FTM would not give. Looking to the one eyed man for his mad plan, she wasn’t sure whether to praise it or cry as he gave the details.

  “Give him one more lap to increase the lead on us… and he’ll be far enough ahead that he’ll have to turn his head just to see us behind him. When we get to the second turn on the lap after, we’ll turn around right when he crosses the lap for the fourth time…

  “We’ll then head for the ramp, hitting it just after he does. If the timing is right… we’ll crash straight underneath him, tearing his car in two or at least disabling it while we head on for a win by default… the worst kind of blow to his ego.”

  “That’s the dirtiest tactic I’ve ever heard… I love it! I hate it! Let’s do it!”

  So the driver finally calmed herself down, following from behind as they went into the fourth lap. Already she was beginning to calculate the time and distance it would require to pull off such a maneuver without Oliver noticing, her estimate being just about the same as Jack’s as they approached the ramp. Knowing that she’d get her chance soon enough, she veered off as the show boater went flying away, pleasing the crowd once more as Oliver convinced himself further of the total rout this was going to be.

  Good for him. Jack and Bibiana pulled off the rocks and back onto the dirt road as the lead runner made his turn, Oliver’s tires screeching as his power slide chucked pebbles and debris all about. A moment later and Oliver made his final lap, or at least what would have to be his last were they to succeed.

  The moment that the mechanic made her dare. Turning on the spot, she watched ahead as the Mazda continued its course as normal, speeding ahead while it prepared to make its turn. Luckily for them, the ramp he used to launch himself was big enough to block the view of the Falcon, symmetrical in shape to allow a jump from Jack’s side as well.

  All perfect settings to finally take down the cheating vampire. Moving the stick forward just as she imagined her ex doing so, the Falcon began its collision course with the Mazda as the two parties lost sight
of each other due to the ramp, both approaching what could be either their salvation or damnation as Jack gave a hard breath. Even Max grew nervous as he whined, sitting down in his kennel and burying his head beneath his paws as they began a count down for a second time.

  Five, four, three, two, one…

  The car ran into the ramp and was just about to leave it when they saw the first hint of metal, a mere foot ahead as they braced for impact. Holding onto their seat belts, the two held their breaths as the sound of ripping metal filled the air, the windshield suffering several cracks as the front of their Falcon began to cut through the undercarriage of the Mazda.

  Everything else went just according to plan. With so few pipes and layers of sheet metal to offer resistance, the speeding Turquois muscle car had no problem slicing through the underbelly and breaking it free from the rest of the red car’s body. Launching over the now spiraling ball of bisected metal, the two landed with a thud as the crowd and world went silent, watching as their champion rolled across the stadium with his split car, Oliver shocked as he held onto a steering wheel attached to nothing.

  Then the world exploded, figuratively. The whole stadium seating jumped to their feet and roared, the miracle finally ending Oliver’s two-year record as Bibiana began to cheer, now drifting about and erasing the V in the dirt as she drew a giant B. Two years of repressed rage and disgust made manifest, unleashed and unloaded in what was the most humiliating day in the stage four FTM’s life as the Mexican girl showed her pride, the power and legacy of a strong people.

  Which was all well and good. Damned Boss felt happy for her… but he knew that Oliver wouldn’t take this lying down. Keeping his eye focused on him, he watched as the shocked white man went from disbelief to sheer, unadulterated rage, his face turning disgusting as both his eyes and V martyr’s mark began to glow.

  Meaning he was going to go all out. Cursing, Big Boss undid his door and jumped out of the moving car in a slide as he felt the back of his shirt tear up, the man moving across the dirt and sand as he drew his shotgun and aimed. Just as he anticipated, the Mazda was nothing more than a tool now that it was destroyed; picking it up with a single hand, the vampire Oliver tried to throw it at the crowd that had turned on him as their cries of glory turned to shrieks of fear, watching as the speedball threatened to kill them all.

  It blew up in a rain of white phosphorous, a single blast from the shotgun causing it to break apart and light the ground on fire, though far still away from the raging demon. Taking it as their sign to leave, the crowd immediately began to run as the announcer left without another word, the world growing quieter as the screams began to fade and Bibiana, smartly, vacating the premise as she decided to watch the fight from afar.

  Given how the veins popped on the driver, Damned Boss wasn’t even sure he wanted to fight the monster. Picking himself off the ground, he made his stand anyway as the Level Four FTM raged against him, his mouth a curl as he threw a hand out and summoned a long tire iron, one stained red from the blood of his enemies.

  “You couldn’t leave it well alone, could ya Jack? I know who you are now: Colonel Volgin told me all about you, especially as we carved that little Mexican pussy up for ya back at the Long Halloween. Take it you got the memo.”

  “That was you then… I was going to put you down swiftly after you told me everything you know. Now that you admit to your crimes… I’m going to blow you apart limb by limb, Vampire. No amount of begging will stay my hand… I don’t care if you even surrender.”

  The man laughed, swinging the tire iron through the air as a trail of black smoke continued to sizzle from his neck, the vampire living up to his name as he appeared to be some special mutant version of those belonging to his usual class. The power that emanated would have caused most normal soldiers to soil themselves, telling them to run the other way.

  Neither intended to do so. This was a duel fated to begin and end today. “Come at me with your best then, you one eyed freak! Volgin’s power has grown; it’ll be more than enough to take you down!”

  “We’ll see.”